


The Only Love I Ever Found

by EllieApple



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:07:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21654265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieApple/pseuds/EllieApple
Summary: He couldn't remember the eyes all that well anymore, or how it felt to look into them, or how that hospital trip went. It was all long gone now. His memories, and his soulmate, everything lost to time.Daryl Dixon found his soulmate at twelve, and then never saw him again. It was just his luck.-Or, the soulmate AU in which Daryl has terrible luck and Jesus shows up years late.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Jesus
Comments: 38
Kudos: 104





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Basically it's the mid season 10 break and I miss Jesus, and I wish Daryl had more of an emotional support system to deal with all the shit that's going on rn, so I'm making a fun silly Desus AU on top of canon. We can have fun while we wait for Donnie to happen.
> 
> This is canon-compliant until the season 9 time skip, except Jesus hasn't been introduced yet. After the time skip, I'm going rogue. Whisperers are gonna have to wait a while to come in, but I plan on following that plotline eventually.
> 
> The Soulmate AU idea isn't mine, it is taken from a prompt on tumblr that suggested: "what if you're colorblind to your soulmate's eye color, and when you first look into their eyes you finally see this color that you only heard about in stories"
> 
> Title is from "Angela", by The Lumineers.

"Stay still or I'll cut your ear off," Carol said under her breath, knife slicing at another lock of hair. Daryl wasn't sure if she meant it as a warning or a threat.

He huffed, as much of an apology as she would get, but obediently held more still as she finished the haircut.

It'd become tradition at this point. She'd hunt him down to whatever spot in the woods he found himself hunkered down in, at least once every other year. She always made it seem like she stumbled upon him on accident, for his sake. He never complained when she took a knife to his hair, for her sake.

Daryl had never been good at holding still unless he was hunting, but the night was soothing enough for now. The crackling fire behind them, that Henry kid somewhere off to the side probably watching them through furtive, confused glances, Dog curled up near his feet, happy to get the occasional ear scratch. Things were calm, almost eerily so. Daryl had gotten used to waiting for the other shoe to drop whenever anything felt too right. Even before the world had gone to shit. Happiness would only last for a moment, a quick distraction to the disaster soon to follow. He'd been born with bad luck and he would die as such.

As if hearing his thoughts, Carol swiped her hands across his shoulders under the pretense of cleaning up stray hairs, but her touch lingered. His eyes flickered up to her face, grateful.

"You really should reconsider my request to stay at Hilltop with Henry for a while," she said, hands back to chopping hair. He looked up at her again, searching her eyes to deliver a glare, but her gaze was stubbornly set on his hair, instead. He was pretty sure she'd cut more than enough by now, but he didn't protest.

"Kid don't need a babysitter," he mumbled, giving his head an involuntary shake when he felt a strand fall to his neck and tickle the sensitive skin there. Carol took it as her cue to stop, and put her knife away.

"I know," she hummed, two hands now free to go through his hair, combing it back with a touch that was too sweet, too soothing. She finally sat down, when before she'd been kneeling up to be taller, and her hands pushed back his newly cut bangs so he'd have nowhere to hide. Not that he ever would hide from her. They were far past that now, almost a decade into knowing each other. "But I'd feel better, knowing you were there."

It wasn't all about Henry, he knew. Tara was guiding Hilltop, she'd have no trouble taking care of this kid. Besides, it wasn't like he would be getting into any trouble by learning how to be the next blacksmith. Daryl wasn't good legal guardian material, specially not for a teenager. Babies and little kids, they were a lot easier to handle.

His heart spared a broken beat for Judith, and he tried not to think of how big she must be already. He hadn't visited Alexandria in a few years now. Every time he tried, every time he got anywhere near the familiar trail that led up to the gates, he couldn't get through with it. He stopped trying somewhere last year. Maybe he'd try again some other time, maybe he'd eventually get tired of living like this, but not for now.

"I like it out here," he said, unprompted, repeating himself. It was a weak attempt at fighting against Carol's wishes, and by the look she gave him, she knew it, too. He'd always cave to whatever she asked of him, within reason. Sometimes he really wondered how they weren't soulmates by default. Soulmates by choice, she had called it once. He let her comb his hair back a few more times before he spoke again. "I'm good here. I don't fit in there, with everyone else."

Not anymore. Not since Rick. It went unsaid, but the smile Carol gave him was a tad too soft to be anything but understanding.

"You know, you're such a grump for someone who sees the world in full color," she teased, humor slithering back into her voice, breaking the sadness that had been looming around them, clouding over their heads in such a warm night.

He scoffed, considered giving her the finger but deciding against it, his head hanging low as he looked at his hands. "I'm a grump because of it."

If she tried to look annoyed, the pinched smile on her face betrayed any attempt at that. There were another few beats of silence between them, as he chewed on the skin of his thumb, eyes scanning her face, knowing she was going to say something else because she always did. It wasn't often that the soulmate topic was brought up between them -- it wasn't often that it was brought up at all since the world went to complete shit --, but whenever it popped up, Carol always had something insightful to share. This time was no different.

"Just because you won't find them, doesn't mean you can't let yourself be happy," she offered this time, her voice still carrying that humorous tone to mask the candidness of her words. She reached out to wrap careful fingers around his forearm and squeezed tight, as if maybe she could force the thought into his bloodstream if she pressed hard enough. "You can still settle down. Be with family again. Have a home."

"I have a home," he protested quickly, head jerking towards the shitty tent behind them. Carol leveled him with a harsh look.

"A couple twigs on the ground and a fire pit isn't a home, Daryl," she sighed, softening her grip on his arm but still letting her hand stay. He covered it with his own, and her face softened again. "I know you. I know what this is."

He didn't doubt that she did. But she stopped talking again, and it made his chest hurt, all the fight leaving him in a quiet sigh. They both knew what he was doing, but he couldn't help it. Six years and he still blamed himself for too much, still couldn't believe he never got Michonne a body to bury, still couldn't imagine living with a family again. His family. Everyone went their separate ways now, everyone had split up and if Daryl didn't feel like he fit in before, he definitely didn't feel it now. Carol had her new life at the Kingdom, his brother was dead, everyone else was busy with their own things. He'd help everyone by steering clear of their path, surviving as he knew best. Alone, with the bare minimum.

He was Daryl Dixon. He didn't get to have a soulmate and a picket fence and happiness that didn't come with another shoe dropping eventually. He had bad luck and a lifetime of trauma. He'd survive. 

"You can have good things. You have to let yourself have good things. You can't keep punishing yourself by living in the middle of the woods with a dog," she pushed his hair back again, from where a strand threatened to fall over his eyes. He looked at her, and he didn't want to agree, but a short nod happened anyway. She just had that look in her eyes that always made him agree even if he didn't feel like it. "You deserve better than just surviving, Daryl."

This time when he nodded, his eyes were back down at his hands, fingers idly picking at an old circular burn mark on his skin. He didn't feel like he particularly deserved any of that life with walls. He was fine in the woods. He didn't mind sleeping on the ground or eating squirrel meat every day. He wasn't needed in any of the communities anymore. He couldn't farm for shit, most people had learned to hunt by now, there weren't many runs to be made. He probably wouldn't be able to pay back for a warm bed and a roof over his head, and it'd eat him alive.

Still, a part of him knew it wasn't like that, a part of him knew Carol was right. He'd learned what family meant, eventually, after all those years living with them. After Hershel's farm, after the prison, after the Saviors, after fucking up so many times and still being received with nothing but wide open arms. All those years, all that anger inside of him, and none of them had ever looked at him like he was anything but their brother

It was too much. It became too much after Rick died. Too much comfort, too much love. He never had a family worth shit, and now that he did and it was falling apart, it was overwhelming.

He missed the days when they first got to Alexandria. Sometimes, he had dreams about it. When they were all piled up in the same living room, knives at ready. He'd taken most of the night shift then, staring out into the quiet neighborhood with the crossbow still strapped to his back, because no one else was as suspicious as he was. No one else had as much of a hard time accepting the warmth of a fluffy bed and a hot shower.

He'd lived his whole life expecting the worst, he wasn't about to let his guard down now that the world had gone to shit. He still hadn't ever let his guard down.

"Promise me you'll think about it?" Carol said at last, pulling her hand back from his arm, giving him a hopeful smile.

She looked so different these days, with her hair long, her features softer. It was like her edges had all been rounded out, back to how they were supposed to be, after she'd sharpen them up for survival. She looked like a mother again. It suited her.

He gave her another short nod, offering a fleeting smile once she leaned back, ready to get up.

His little camp in the woods always felt empty after anyone visited. It had been Michonne once, with her pregnant belly still not so big, and her kind eyes. Another time it'd been Maggie, before she left, with little Hershel in her arms, offering a goodbye hug. Aaron had stopped by once, brought him some canned goods and stayed for dinner. Whenever they left and Daryl found himself alone again, it was like he was seeing his camp for what it really was.

A pile of twigs and a fire pit.

So he helped Carol pack her things back onto the carriage, dread already settling down in his chest like a familiar weight, knowing he'd feel so empty without her and Henry around, even if they were only here for a few hours.

"I like your hair like that," he commented, once they were all packed up and ready to go, and she was giving him the look of someone who was considering pulling him into a hug. "'S nice."

She smiled before pulling him into the promised hug, squeezing her arms around his shoulders until he melted against her.

"Think about it," she murmured as she pulled away. "Hilltop would be better with you around.

He only nodded again, because there was no use arguing when they were saying goodbye. He didn't want to taint the moment. There was a good chance he'd give himself just another day or two here before he did show up at Hilltop, but he didn't want to make her any promises.

Daryl watched them go, looked at the back of the carriage until it blurred into the night, lost within the trees. He scratched Dog's ears and let the dread fill his chest as he returned to his quiet campsite.

\----

He'd been just a boy when he found his soulmate.

'Found', however, was a loose term for it. He just didn't have a better word. There wasn't anything in English that better conveyed the feeling of such a discovery -- and the feeling of having something for such a fleeting moment, only to lose it forever, a second later. 

Merle had always teased him about the idea of soulmates, ever since little Daryl pointed out that some M&M's were an ugly, muted shade of grey and brown, and he didn't like it. He remembered his father only snarled something he couldn't quite make out, but Merle had absolutely beamed immediately.

"Those are blue, baby brother!" He exploded into a fit of laughter before pulling Daryl into a teasing headlock that was rougher than intended, which the smaller boy was quick to slither away from. "Maybe you'll find ya blue-eyed miss someday, and you'll see it, dummy."

There wasn't much else to remember from his childhood, his dad made sure of it.

He had read about it in that book Carol got, about children who were abuse victims, and how sometimes the brain would lock away certain memories when they were too painful to be remembered. He'd never realized it was a thing people went through. He thought his choppy memory was just a personality trait, he thought he just happened to be a forgetful person. His childhood was so many years ago, it was easy to dismiss it.

But he remembered everything in broken scenes, and even then, it was distant. Merle told him how it all happened, once. It felt like hearing the plot of a movie you never watched, the stories about himself as a boy never quite felt like his own memories.

His dad had always been rough, of course. Abusive. That was a new word he'd learned in the new world. Before all this, before Carol, he'd just say he took a beating hard enough that made him forget his shit.

But he remembered the sky was a weird sad brownish color, once. He remembered the discolored M&M's. He remembered his own eyes in the mirror, a dull shade of grey. He remembered how Merle would tease him about not seeing the blue on their mother's apron, and he learned, eventually, to tease Merle back about how his older brother couldn't see the green in the trees.

Daryl didn't even have the time to fantasize about meeting his soulmate, because he was so young. Romance was the last thing in his mind at that point, filled with grief for his mother, carrying guilt that didn't belong to him, missing his brother. Merle had just left their place, which left Daryl as the main target for his dad's anger.

He didn't remember much else, then, but he remembered meeting him. His soulmate

Barely so, but the memory was still stubbornly hanging on in his mind, because there wasn't anything that could compare to seeing a new color for the first time. Older kids at school and movies and books were always talking about this, this big fantasy, the moment you look into your soulmate's eyes and you can see the color of their eyes for the first time. And the world would shift, and it'd be a big explosion, and a grand moment.

Daryl didn't remember any of that, to be honest. He just remembered the pair of blue eyes staring back at him. There were no explosions, no swelling music between them. They were both kids.

He remembered it had been on a busy place, a place with a bunch of other kids around, and Daryl figured it could be a school. He remembered the sky on the way home that day, how blue it was. 

He remembered patching up his own wounds from his dad's beating that night. He remembered the hospital trip five days later, when the cuts got infected because he was only twelve years old, he couldn't patch his back up properly, and he remembered how blue the nurses' scrubs were.

Not long after that, they moved to another town, as his father wanted to make sure his son would never meet that boy again. As if Daryl had any desire to seek him out after everything that happened.

Merle filled him in on it one night, when they were already grown men, the both of them several beers in after a failed hunting trip. He hadn't been home when it happened, but he was the one who visited days later and ended up taking Daryl to the hospital.

It was a group home, not a school, Merle told him. The cops had taken Daryl there to be looked after for one afternoon, while his father was dealing with some trouble after a DUI. Just minutes before their father came to pick him up, he locked eyes with a younger boy in whatever playroom everyone was kept in, and it happened.

Daryl tried not to be offended at how Merle looked physically pained and mildly disgusted telling that part. His little brother with another man for a soulmate. The tragedy.

Their dad lost his mind when he found out. Dragged Daryl all the way back home and gave him a beating between whiskey sips and horrible slurs. Daryl was happy to not remember that part, most of all. He'd forgotten a lot of his father's abuse when it came to the act itself -- he remembered sometimes how it stung, or how he cried, or how he had to clean up the blood and take care of the bruises afterwards. Flashes of memories, random scenes sprinkled in.

It had been long enough now that even the memories Daryl kept had started to fade. He'd been through so much since the walkers started roaming, his childhood was a distant thought more than anything. His mother’s voice, his father’s face, things that slipped away from him, too.

He couldn't remember the eyes all that well anymore, or how it felt to look into them, or how that hospital trip went. It was all long gone now. His memories, and his soulmate, everything lost to time.

Daryl Dixon found his soulmate at twelve, and then never saw him again. It was just his luck.

He told himself he didn't mind it.

\----

Even if the sound of Dog's slightest shuffle didn't wake him up immediately, the sudden sprint and distant barking certainly would.

As soon as Dog moved, Daryl was blinking his eyes open, and as soon as he saw the dog run, he was up on his feet, grabbing his crossbow. It was second nature by now, to wake up running, to aim and shoot before you could even see straight.

He stood there, crossbow raised to his eyes, ears listening past his hammering heart to be aware of any danger. Dog had run straight into the forest, losing himself between the trees, quick as usual. It couldn’t be a walker, Dog didn't chase after those.

And then he barked. And barked, and barked some more, and Daryl was already running after him against his best judgement. He kept his crossbow raised and his eyes wide open and he moved quietly around the trail he knew.

"Dog! Ya damn thing, c'mere," he whispered into the dark, but his voice was clearly swallowed by the incessant barking.

A few more steps and he still couldn't see Dog, though the barking was growing louder as he inched closer. The animal was either in danger or extremely excited, there was no in between. Daryl didn't want to show his face yet without knowing what was the situation first, so he used the forest's darkness to keep himself hidden as he moved. Two more steps and he could see Dog's tail -- which was wagging furiously.

Daryl's shoulders visibly relaxed, though he kept his crossbow still at ready. Dog was usually a better judge of character than he was, he wouldn't behave this openly towards someone who seemed like a threat.

And then Daryl heard the voice, a quiet sound behind all of Dog's noise. Words that were laced with exhaustion and a touch of morbid irony in the face of a barking dog.

"Okay! Okay, puppy, okay," the man pleaded, and when Daryl shuffled to get a better look, he saw two shaky hands raised up in the air, a beard, long hair flowing down from a beanie. This guy was in surrender mode, as if Dog was holding him at gunpoint. "You know what, I'm not gonna hurt you, pup, so if you're gonna kill me, just do it. Might as well. I've lived enough. I draw the line at dog slaughter, okay?"

Daryl snickered so loudly that he compromised his hiding spot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't written fanfic in YEARS and I never used AO3 before, so let me know if I'm fucking anything up, please! I'm so excited to be writing again.
> 
> Don't forget to leave kudos or a comment, I'd appreciate it, I have no clue what I'm doing. Next chapter coming soon, I swear, so have faith in me please.
> 
> Rating to be changed as needed and tags to be added in the future.


	2. Chapter 2

"Good boy," Daryl called under his breath, stepping out from the trees now that the stranger had seen him.

The man fumbled for something, and Daryl raised his crossbow higher, ready to shoot at the first sight of any sort of weapon. Instead, the man pulled out a flashlight and pointed the light straight into his eyes.

"Fuckin' hell, man," Daryl rasped, southern accent heavy as he took a step back and shielded his face from the piercing bright light. At least Dog had stopped barking, and these woods had been consistently empty of any walkers, but they were still at risk of calling too much attention on themselves if this guy didn't shut that thing off soon. The only reason why Daryl wasn't any more suspicious or scared of this encounter was Dog's presence, tail still wagging happily, tongue hanging out of a toothy grin. This dog had always been too smart for his own good, it was hard not to trust him. If Dog liked this guy, then the guy was probably pretty okay. Simple as that. "Turn that thing off, before you bring on any--"

"I know karate," the stranger blurted out.

Daryl raised his hand-shield a little, head tilting back as he sent the other a skeptical look. The image was hazy behind the blinding flashlight, but he could just about grasp what this man looked like. Nothing about the trimmed beard and lean shape really screamed 'threat', to be honest.

Not that Daryl was any good judge of that. The thought of Dwight came to mind, and he clenched his jaw quietly. He'd forgiven the man in the end, but that didn't erase all the shit he'd done, and how naive Daryl had been in helping him and his girl that day in the woods.

He tried not to let the occurrence harden his heart, but it wasn't exactly smart to trust strangers these days, and it wasn't exactly easy to do so after being held captive and tortured. He wanted to be good, and giving, and selfless again. He wanted to remember Carl and Beth and Hershel, the people who had been through hell and come out the other end still gentle, people who hadn't let the world beat them into sharp edges and cutting tones.

But the world had gone to shit, and it wasn't fair at all, and it had taken those people away.

"Go away," he declared, after too long of silence between them. His crossbow lowered, but it was still in his hands, ready to fire if the guy moved too briskly. "Nothin' for you here. Go and I won't shoot you."

The guy stood there, frozen in place, it seemed. When Daryl considered yelling at him to get moving, the flashlight was carefully turned off.

He had to blink away the ghost of the light from his eyes, but eventually he lowered his shielding hand back down. Dog took the opportunity to nuzzle against it, and Daryl scratched at his muzzle idly as he got a better look at the man. The image wasn't so hazy anymore, even if it was still dark enough that it was hard to see details. The man really had a beanie on, even though it was hardly cold enough for that, and a long jacket that seemed like leather material and a number too tight. His long hair looked like it hadn't seen a shower in weeks, even if his beard looked perfectly kept and his face was clean.

"Do you…" the man started, but stopped. His feet shuffled, and he looked embarrassed to finish the sentence, big doe eyes flickering between Daryl and Dog. "Do you have any food you can spare?"

Oh, hell. It was like this guy was very aware of Daryl's inner moral turmoil and was trying to get him to cave. And then, because that wasn't enough, he continued rambling.

"It's just-- I was going to the lake a couple miles down to try and fish something. And if you want me to go the other way, that's fine, but if you'd spare me just a little something, I'd have better chances of not passing out on my way to somewhere else."

Pretty reasonable. Dog whined, bumping his head against Daryl's hand again, requesting attention. The hunter pet him, though he still kept his eyes on the stranger.

The man sighed.

"Yeah. Okay, I'll go. I'm not trying to start anything. I'm just tired," he continued, once Daryl's silence stretched for too long, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

He bent down slowly to pick his backpack up, and Dog moved forward in a flash, probably because he thought the guy was trying to play with him. A new set of hands readily available for him to lick and nuzzle against were as good as any. Sometimes Daryl wondered if the thing was just getting tired of him and trying to get adopted by someone else, as he'd also been so quick to play with Henry earlier. Ungrateful bastard.

Instead of accepting the attention or merely pushing Dog away politely, the stranger jumped about ten feet in the air, flinching back.

Dog, unfazed, thought the guy was just playing with him, and jumped back excitedly, wagging tail up in the air while he lowered his chest to the ground. The stranger was frozen halfway picking up his backpack, confused eyes focused on the dog in front of him.

"Don't know much about dogs, do you?" Daryl asked, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice, though he doubted it was perceptible anyway.

The man looked between him and Dog again, tentatively reaching out a hand towards the overly excited creature. "Never had one," he offered, his tone apologetic.

For someone who never had a dog, Dog was quite the overwhelming first impression. By the looks of it, he seemed to be part Malinois, and that wasn't the type of dog you wanted to mess around with. Police dogs, which was ironic. Even when he was just playing, he was rough. Daryl had never seen him do anything calmly, he was always sprinting ahead, always barking and jumping and with so much excitement to spare. Dog could probably burst through a wall with the amount of pent up energy he always carried with him.

The stranger didn't look scared, just hesitant. Any person had the right to be, facing such a chaotic creature. Dog, who seemed to suddenly have bottled in all of his energy at once, reached forward carefully and gave the guy's hand the tiniest of licks.

"I see how it is," Daryl mumbled to himself, under his breath. Dog turned back to look at him, relaxed grin back on his face, tail wagging curiously. If there was an equivalent of 'can we keep him?' in dog body language, this was it. He was pretty sure if he sent this guy away now, Dog might trail after him.

And Daryl cared about the damn thing more than he cared to admit and he wasn't about to let a bearded, long-haired guy steal his dog.

And Carl would've helped this guy. That goddamn kid with the heart three times bigger than his own body. He'd see a friend in this random karate guy the same way he'd seen the good in Siddiq, too. So that was two against one already. Dog and the spirit of Carl, who always seemed to creep back on him in these situations.

Sometimes, trusting your gut was the only way out. And for once, his gut wasn't telling him to push someone away.

"C'mon," Daryl groaned, at last. The stranger perked up, hopeful. He jerked his head towards the woods behind him. "Got my stuff by the river. I'll get you something." 

The guy nodded, hesitance lingering for only a second longer before he was picking up his backpack for good now, ready to follow. He eyed Dog again, though the suspicious look in his eyes from before was replaced with something softer now.

Dog was happy to trail along with them as they headed back, tail still wagging and body occasionally bumping against the new stranger's legs.

And the guy didn't shut up the whole way back.

"Thank you again for this." 

"You could be taking me somewhere to murder me, but I have a good feeling about you."

"I don't usually run into other people, you know? I don't mingle much. I keep to myself."

"You're not much of a talker, I see? Same here." 

"I really thought your dog wanted to kill me. I thought he was just another hungry stray."

Every time, the only response was dead silence or Daryl's grunt, until finally, when they were close to his little campsite, the hunter granted him a response.

"Don't know how you survived this long talking this much," he mumbled, barely audible past the sound of ruffling leaves as he moved a branch out of the way to lead the man onto the riverbank where his supplies were.

"I usually don't. Maybe it's exhaustion. Maybe you just pull it out of me," the stranger replied, a weirdly teasing tone in his voice that Daryl chose not to acknowledge.

He moved over to light a match and turn on the oil lamp he kept around, gesturing towards the log he used as a bench, so the guy could sit. He could hear the man slump down on it, backpack dumped on the ground again.

It was easier to see now, with the faint orange glow over them. The night wasn't too cold, though winter was quickly approaching, and the sky was mostly pitch black, without a moon. It seemed like sunrise wasn't too far now, so Daryl probably got a good night of sleep before this guy came stumbling in and alerting Dog. As good time as any to have breakfast, he supposed.

He didn't have to ration food if he was going to Hilltop soon.

He sat down heavily by the man's side, handing over a neatly packaged portion of dried squirrel meat. It wasn't much, but it was good protein. Better than fish, if Daryl said so himself, but that was his personal preference.

"Oh. Oh, thank you," the man breathed, surprise and then relief flooding his features as he unwrapped the package and realized what was in there. He stuffed at least three pieces in his mouth before he thought to look up at Daryl, apologetic tone in his voice again. "I'm Jesus. Well, Paul. But people call me Jesus."

Daryl glanced the man's way as he unwrapped his own portion of the meat, and saw the two bright blue-green eyes staring up at him. He hadn't quite been able to see their color before, back in the forest.

It didn't matter.

"I ain't calling you Jesus," he rasped back.

There was a time, back in his youth, that a blue-eyed man might've peaked his interest. That was all he knew about his soulmate after all, blue eyes and a boy. And back in the day, up to his mid twenties maybe, seeing any man who was nice enough towards him and had bright blue eyes, he'd feel a sting of hope in his heart. He was no romantic, he didn't believe he would ever manage to find this guy again -- and even if he found him, the man certainly would want nothing to do with him, Daryl Dixon, of all people. But there was, once, that tiny flash of hope. He looked for his soulmate in every pair of blue eyes he found, until he didn't anymore.

Life was like that, sometimes. He wasn't destined for a great love story, he decided eventually. And he stopped looking.

When the world went to shit, every last slither of hope he might've kept was definitely gone. Daryl would never admit it, but when Rick Grimes showed up to the old camp in his ridiculous sheriff uniform and armed with piercing blue eyes, he'd considered that flash of hope again. He didn't believe it for long, but he thought it'd be a pretty funny story, if he found his soulmate after the world has lost its marbles. If it took an apocalypse to find his ultimate pair.

It only took a bit of prodding to find out Rick hadn't found his soulmate yet, at the time. He found it years later, at the prison camp site, when he met Michonne. They kept it a secret and danced around each other for far too long, it'd been exhausting to watch, even if Daryl was happy for the two.

So soulmates could still be found in the apocalypse, it turned out. It just wasn't the type of thing to happen to Daryl.

"What's your name?" Paul asked, after the silence between them stretched too long again. Daryl liked to let that happen in hopes that it would kill the conversation entirely. Somehow, it didn't seem to work on this guy.

"Daryl," he replied, sighing as he ate another piece of the meat.

"Well, thank you for the food, Daryl," he said, all polite and formal. It sounded pretty funny coming from the guy who had his hands up and was trying to reason his own death to a dog moments earlier. "Seriously."

Daryl glanced over, seeing that Paul had already finished his portion of food, and was folding the wrapping paper meticulously back into place. The hunter picked another piece from his pile before pushing the rest of his portion onto the man's lap, deciding he could probably go a little hungrier than usual if it meant this guy would eat more. He just looked like he needed it. Daryl couldn't stand the thought of anyone around him being hungry. 

If the wide, thankful eyes that looked at him were anything to go by, he was right to assume Paul wanted it.

"No, this is your part, I'm not gonna--"

"Shut up," Daryl huffed, but there was no heat behind his words. Paul stopped talking as requested, but kept the dry meat untouched in his lap, eyes still blinking up at him, confused. The hunter looked away from the piercing gaze, focusing on Dog instead as he pet the creature's fur. "Eat it. 'S fine. I'm taking you somewhere with more food when the sun rises."

He didn't dare glance over again until he felt Paul's eyes leave his face, tentative fingers picking up the meat like it was something precious this time, eating it slower. Daryl was glad that under the warm light of his lamp, his discomfort was probably less apparent. He could feel his ears burn. 

"You have a camp somewhere?" Paul asked, after another bite or two. The question wasn't hopeful as much as it was hesitant.

"Somethin' like that."

"I thought most communities were gone by now," Paul murmured, quiet enough that Daryl wasn't entirely too sure if he should respond or not, so he didn't.

Silence fell between them again, comfortable. Daryl was attentive to every sound for a minute, making sure nothing was getting close to them. Dog's breathing by his side, the sound of rustling paper as Paul picked up more pieces of meat, the wind rustling the trees lightly. It was a peaceful night. Probably another hour before sunlight started painting the sky baby blue. Then they could pack up and head to Hilltop.

There was no rational reason to take this stranger to Hilltop, Daryl knew that. The guy was a rambler and a weirdo, but he looked like he was trying not to pass out from either hunger or exhaustion, whichever took him first, and he could probably use a place to stay. If he'd survived out here this long, he had to have some useful survival skills. And Dog liked him, really liked him, despite his nervousness, which Daryl had never seen the dog do to anyone else.

That was all he would tell Tara, when they got there. In reality, it was nothing more than a gut feeling.

"So," Daryl started, and the other man perked up immediately, which almost made the hunter take back his attempt at conversation. He could feel more rambling coming. "You really know karate?"

Paul broke into a grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A massive thank you to everyone who's sticking around!


	3. Chapter 3

Daryl had half a mind to send Paul on foot to Hilltop, but he didn't have the heart for it. It'd be too long of a walk. It'd be stupid to endanger the man like that after going out of his way to save him. They'd just have to share the motorcycle.

And he tried not to think of that too much when the sun finally showed itself, brightening the sky, clearing up the misty night air. He didn't have much to pack, so the process was quick. He had to make sure not to leave much of a trail to be followed, in case the wrong people stumbled upon this site.

"We're not leaving him behind, right?" Paul spoke from somewhere behind him, voice small but hiding an unwavering determination that Daryl could hear.

He turned, and saw Paul crouching on the ground, practically clinging to Dog, brows furrowed as he looked up at Daryl. Dog clearly was basking in the attention, looking at his owner with a shit-eating grin like a cat who ate the canary. The hunter choked back a noise that would've come out as something halfway between fondness and surprise, and felt his ears turn pink before he looked away briskly.

"Nah. He runs ahead," he offered, kicking some rocks around to hide his improvised fire pit, covering the burn marks. "He likes running along with the bike."

He didn't look back, but he could practically feel Paul's content smile at that response. He could hear Dog's fur being ruffled enthusiastically, and the animal sniffed and huffed happily in return.

Daryl finished his packing and threw Dog a last piece of meat as a treat, before nodding for them to get going. Hilltop was a good while away, even on bike, and they shouldn't waste any daylight.

Paul shouldered his backpack and waited as Daryl set up the motorcycle. His eyes were focused on the road ahead, and the hunter figured the other was just lost in thought, until he spoke. "These roads are really dusty."

Daryl responded with an agreeing hum, unsure of how else to react to that.

He focused on getting his bike ready, taking good care of it before they hopped on because he hadn't used this old thing in a couple weeks now. And maybe he was stalling a bit, because the thought of having a stranger on the back of his bike was odd and it made him uncomfortable. No one outside of his family had ever ended up with him on the bike. But before he could find more ways to stall, he saw a hand holding out a colorful piece of fabric towards him.

A dull green, he noticed, and all crumpled up. He raised an eyebrow and looked from the cloth, to Paul's eyes again.

"To cover your face," the man explained, and when Daryl didn't move to get the thing, he unfolded it, revealing the wide bandana. A flash of uncertainty passed his eyes before the determination was back. "Seriously, just-- for your nose. It helps a lot. It's not good to be breathing in the dust that the bike will pick up." 

Daryl supposed he had a point.

Somewhere behind them, Dog whined, annoyed that they hadn't started moving yet. Paul stood his ground, bandana still on a stretched out hand, waiting with all the patience in the world, as if Daryl hadn't let enough time of silence pass between them that things had gotten awkward by now. Someone else might've already retreated the offer and given up on it. Paul gave the bandana a little shake, quietly insistent. 

"Thanks," finally came the reluctant response, eyes suspicious as he took the bandana from the other man.

He'd never used one for driving before, because Daryl Dixon didn't have the habit of ever making his life any easier for himself. He remembered wearing it back in the Prison days, when that infection had spread rapidly and they had to protect themselves from getting it, too. But that was different. He never wanted to try one for driving before, but Paul had been pretty insistent, and already tying up his own blue bandana around his face, and he looked so genuinely pleased that Daryl had taken the offering.

If Tara made fun of him for this, he swore he was going to kill her.

Which, of course, was exactly what she did.

He drove faster than he had in years, getting to Hilltop in record time because he didn't want to have Paul strapped to his back for any longer than necessary. That was what he told himself, anyway.

The bandana did help. A lot, actually.

As soon as the gates opened after their presence was announced, Tara was running up to meet them, her grin wide. Hilltop had always suited her better than Alexandria, Daryl thought -- much like himself. He'd left when Maggie did, because he felt lost without her there, but he didn't mind living here before. Alexandria was different. It'd been suffocating even when they first got there, with its marble countertops and picket fences, but now with that monster living in the basement, Daryl couldn't bear the thought of staying there.

"New look?" Tara greeted them, eyebrows raising as she gestured towards the bandana. "Adorable. Looking like a real cowboy or something."

Daryl's glare did nothing to dim her excitement as she offered a hand up for the classic fistbump. He gave into her greeting accordingly, before removing the bandana from his neck a little too aggressively and handing it back to Paul. 

"Who's the new friend?" She looked Paul up and down, and the hunter could see him offer an uncertain smile after putting the green bandana away, his own blue one now tugged down to sit below his beard.

"Paul," Daryl's voice was barely over a groan, like a petulant child who was forced to apologize to their nemesis. "He needs a place to stay. Figured you'd have an empty place available."

"You can call me Jesus," Paul corrected, offering a smile. Now that Daryl looked at the man, he could see how the blue eyes were running all around them, taking in the community. Hilltop buzzed with life, so early in the morning. "It's a nickname, I mean. My friends called me Jesus."

"Ah! Because of the whole…" Tara trailed off, gesturing to Paul's entire being vaguely. She seemed entirely too amused by it, and he was smiling contently. "That's funny, I love that. Nice to meet you, Jesus." 

The fistbump was offered once again, and Paul only hesitated for a second before he gave into it, bumping their knuckles together. Daryl always wondered why this was Tara's chosen way of greeting, but he was also grateful that the new generation would have someone to teach them the many awkward ways they could say hello, one day. 

"We have a spare trailer, if he plans on staying. You two know each other for long?" Tara looked between them, and Paul looked at Daryl, mouth opening like he might say something. He stopped himself, unsure.

Daryl grunted.

Tara looked between them for a second longer before her eyebrows shot up, seeing the way the hunter was shrugging her question off. She cocked her head to the side, inviting him to take a step to the side so they could talk privately. "Daryl, a word?"

Paul took a respectful step back, lips pressed together like he knew that hadn't been the answer Tara was looking for. It made sense, of course. Daryl couldn't just bring strangers into a community like this without knowing them, they had to protect themselves. Paul wasn't in need of any immediate help or unable to care for himself, there was no apparent reason to take him in without knowing first if he wasn't a complete psychopath. Nothing but gut feeling.

"Do you not know this guy? What's up?" Tara whispered to him, once they had stepped away so Paul wouldn't hear. She looked more confused than angry, even if she had every reason to be the latter. She still spoke calmly, as usual, and for a second her face softened. "I haven't seen you in forever, man, missed you. But also, what the fuck? Do you trust him?"

Daryl had to give that question a moment of thought, his eyes down on the ground as he shrugged again. Trust was a big word. He was pretty sure he only genuinely trusted Carol now, had trusted Rick, as well. He didn't give that away so easily. He'd sacrifice himself in a heartbeat for any of his family, Tara included, but trust was a difficult, tricky bitch. Daryl only ever trusted with all of his being, blindly, wholeheartedly, so not many got the chance to have that trust. Carol and Rick could lead him blindfolded through a warzone and he'd let them.

Still, for this question, the final answer was still up for debate. He didn't trust Paul, not really. "I vouch for him," he said, instead. Tara sighed and leaned back, unsure. "I do. If he fucks up, it's on me. Kick him out on the first sign of trouble."

She snuck a glance towards Paul, who was politely looking away from the conversation now, and gave another sigh. "You never brought anyone here. You barely even bring yourself anymore. Why this guy?"

It didn't sound like an accusation, it sounded like genuine curiosity. Daryl let the silence linger for a few moments between them before he answered, voice small.

"Dog likes him." 

Tara's face closed off in an annoyed glare. "I'm serious, Daryl."

"So am I," he said, voice firmer, full of a certainty that he didn't even know he carried somewhere in his chest. "He's a good guy, I know it. A bit suicidal, maybe, ‘cause he thought Dog wanted to kill him. But he says he knows karate. Used to give classes. Could teach the kids or something." 

The girl leaned back again, face still stuck on that confused, unsure expression. Daryl glanced at Paul over his shoulder and saw Dog circling around him, panting happily and trying to play.

"Okay," Tara said, finally. "Only because you never brought anyone before, so he must be damn special. And don't make it a habit."

Her tone carried no threat, but Daryl was sure that was only because he'd known her for too long. It was hard to take her too seriously when he'd seen her nerd out about dumb books before, or fight over some old jellybeans. She was the annoying little sister he never knew he needed, and even if she was a fierceless leader to Hilltop, he refused to forget how much of a dork she was, deep down.

He only realized he was smiling when she hit his shoulder playfully on the way back to Paul.

"Hey, it's okay, I--," the man started, Dog still moving around him, trying to jump up to nibble at his hands in an attempt to start something. Paul looked like he was starting to make excuses to leave, so Tara cut him off.

"Let's go see your trailer, Jesus boy," she jerked her head towards the mentioned housing area. 

Paul looked equal parts confused and grateful, eyes wide and lips breaking into a grin that was so sincere that Daryl had to look away from it. He went on to thank Tara profusely, and he was already offering his services and trying to see how he could help. Daryl walked a couple steps behind them and whistled for Dog to come along.

The trailer didn't look big -- Daryl wouldn't know, he waited outside while Tara showed it --, but Paul looked absolutely enchanted by it. He came out of it without his backpack and looking like he just dropped the weight of the world off his shoulders. Daryl had seen that look many times before; he'd seen it on his family's eyes, every time they came upon a safe place after weeks or months of wandering. Sure, it didn't always work out for them, the places they found, but the feeling stayed the same throughout time. Hope, and something like relief. Being free from the weight of struggling to survive on your own.

Daryl told himself that the tugging in his chest was just sympathy, is all.

"You haven't run off yet," Tara noted towards the hunter as she walked off the trailer, excitement dancing in her eyes.

"'M staying," Daryl said, and for once he didn't immediately shy away from the way her face beamed at the news. Sometimes, his family's love could be overwhelming. Sometimes, it wasn't so bad. "Carol asked me to look after her kid." 

"Well, then," she drawled, like she was trying to reel in her excitement. She probably was, in fear that if she sounded too happy, it'd scare him off. "You can show Jesus around while I get shit ready. Perfect." 

\---

The tour Daryl gave was uneventful, as expected. He barely showed Paul around, just pointed him towards the things and grunted about different locations. The fields, the goats, the Barrington house. The little graveyard.

After that, they broke apart. Daryl had to find Henry and tell the kid he'd be sticking around for a bit, then he should probably write Carol a letter and ask someone else to deliver it, just so she wouldn't bother him about this anymore. Paul was probably busy settling in and hearing the local set of rules from Tara.

The day went by easily. Daryl actually grabbed a bite for lunch on the go before he left the walls, looking to hunt something down and offer it up for dinner. It was the least he could do while he stuck around. He didn't want to take up any other housing options even if there were any available, so he'd be staying at some room at the Barrington house for as long as he had to watch over Henry, and then he'd probably go back out there. He figured it shouldn't be longer than a few months, at best. And for as long as he was here, he'd like to pull his weight and find some meat, even if he knew other people were periodically hunting, too.

He was still a better tracker than most current hunters, who were still beginners.

Close to nightfall, he got to stroll back in with a deer slung over his shoulders, covered in dirt and feeling happy again. He felt useful, he had people to share deer meat with, and he'd have a bed at night. As much as he told himself he didn't need or even enjoy these things all that much, he felt lucky for having them. He dropped the animal over to get prepared, knowing he didn't need to stick around to skin and cut things open. That part he trusted other people with. He got a couple thankful pats on the back and saw a few pairs of excited, sparkling eyes before he made his way to the House.

Cleaning up wasn't high on his list of priorities, but it was necessary if he wanted to partake in dinner, Tara kindly suggested. He wasn't one to complain. Unlike when he first got to Alexandria and felt like he had something to prove, he didn't actually mind a good scrub today. Contrary to popular belief. 

He still wore his vest though, even if it was dirty.

Everyone was welcome to grab their portion of meat and go back to their places, but the people of Hilltop seemed to enjoy having dinner like it was a big celebration. Maybe they were happy about the deer meat, maybe it was like this every night nowadays, Daryl couldn't tell. So most people ended up grouping together on the common dining space they had, something that looked more like a wide barn, filled with long tables and benches that were now taken by people talking and laughing and eating. It was a good way to end a day of work.

The night air was cool, making most people go for sweaters and jackets already. The lamps casted a warm yellow light over everything, and the buzz from conversation made everything feel like one big family reunion.

The hunter taken a plate and moved to sit outside, somewhere more hidden nearby, so he could still enjoy the murmur of lively conversation without being a part of it. Dog was laying happy at his feet, stomach full with the plate of scraps that he'd been given earlier when the cooks were working on dinner.

Daryl hadn't even thought about Paul again all day, until he saw him.

The first thing Daryl noticed was how clean his hair was, and how it flowed and draped over his shoulders more freely now that it wasn't weighed down by dirt. The beanie was gone, as were the jacket and gloves. He looked relaxed, like he was fitting in already, and it wasn't hard to imagine that. He looked like an entirely different man, and yet, Daryl only felt familiarity when he looked up at him.

"Mind if I join you?" The man asked, even though he was already sitting by the hunter's side anyway. Dog lifted his head, but was otherwise too sleepy to say hi.

Paul sat close enough that Daryl felt like looking at him now would be uncomfortable, but their knees and shoulders weren't touching. He didn't know why he was mildly disappointed by that.

"Already did," he responded, which was just about as dumb as saying 'it's a free country'.

"You could still easily kick me out," the smile in Paul's voice was easy to catch. He paused, took a bite from the plate that he was carefully balancing on one hand. When he spoke again, it was quieter, like he was making a confession. "I didn't want to sit in there. Not used to all the noise, you know. But I didn't want to be alone, either."

Daryl felt the air leave him in a sympathetic huff. "Yeah. I know the feelin'."

Silence settled between them, comfortable. Strangely enough, Daryl didn't mind the man's company in the slightest. With any other stranger, he might've gotten squirmish by now, at the idea of sitting quietly and eating together. But there was something different about Paul; like he understood a lot more than he had any right to, and Daryl didn't have to worry about it.

"I know you don't want to hear it again, but thank you," he said, breaking the silence after a while. Daryl decided to steal a glance sideways, his eyes otherwise looking at the barn ahead of them, and Paul looked thoughtful, pushing meat around his plate with a fork idly. "I never fit in well, in these kind of places. I wasn't lying when I told you I don't mingle much. But I wanna keep this one. I was really at the end of my rope when… well, when Dog found me."

"No worries, man," Daryl replied, without really looking at him. He liked to shrug these things off even if it meant a lot to him that someone was thankful of anything he did. For someone who grew up thinking he was destined to be one big fuck up, it was nice to feel appreciated. He still didn't know how to respond, but he was better at it than he had been years ago. He tried to lighten the mood up with a half-joke. "You should thank Dog."

"Oh, I have. Profusely," Paul had that teasing tone back in his voice, eyes sparkling under the warm lights. "But I don't know, see, he keeps shrugging it off. Very frustrating. I'm not sure he really understands how he saved my life."

Daryl snorted out an ugly sound at that, amused. He knew what Paul was doing there, and he could make some smart comment about owners and pets being similar, but he refrained. He didn't want to fuel this talk about his issues, he could tell it would lead to an unnecessary amount of opening up.

Paul let it go, thankfully, but that didn't mean he would stop talking. "So, you're Tara's brother?"

"Yeah. Not… literally," Daryl added, even if it sounded wrong to say that. Because they were family, all of them, everyone Daryl loved and cared for, but he knew it was complicated for newcomers to understand that he wasn't talking blood. Specially when he was so deadpan and passionate about it. The amount of people who believed for years that he and Rick were blood brothers wasn't surprising.

"Ah. I figured," Paul said softly. "You two seem pretty close anyway. She's great... I really like her."

Oh.

Oh, Daryl knew what this talk was.

And he really didn't want to be a part of it.

"She ain't like that," he grunted, knowing that didn't explain anything and he'd have to elaborate. He kept his eyes ahead, but he could feel Paul's eyes on him, expecting. He had no business saying this, but he also knew how weirded out Tara got when men liked her like that, and he wanted to save this guy the heartbreak as well as his sister from the trouble. "She's gay."

It was Paul's turn to snort, without missing a beat, and Daryl could see him smiling big from the corner of his eyes. "Yeah, I know. And so am I. So don't worry about it, cowboy. I'm not about to fight you for your gay sister's hand in marriage or anything."

The hunter felt his face burn, more from the embarrassment of assuming Paul was hitting on Tara than anything. He shouldn't have been so quick to judge, but hey, could he be blamed? People around him often behaved like animals on heat, trying to find the next warm body to fill their beds, he had gotten used to that by now. And his protective vein wouldn't let any man be walking around trying to harass Tara into a date.

Still, he did just make a fool of himself.

"Sorry, it's just…" he started, unsure of where he was going with it, so it was a good thing Paul interrupted.

"No, it's okay, I get it. I’m not offended, it’s funny you thought I was into her. And it's nice that you look out for her," he lifted a hand over, looked like he wanted to reach out and maybe offer a friendly shoulder pat or something, but decided to just wipe his palm down on his own pants instead. "She's a good friend, I can tell. I never had much of a family, it’s nice seeing what you guys have. She mentioned the others in the other communities.”

“Never had much of one, either,” Daryl offered. So much for not wanting to open up at all. Paul hummed, and he continued, because he felt like he should. Like he could. Because maybe it wasn’t so hard to talk to him, anyway. “Family, I mean. Happy to have it now.”

“I’m glad you guys have it. I mean, I wouldn’t know, but I’ve heard it’s good stuff.” There was shameless humor to his voice, even if the words were laced with something much darker. When Daryl looked over, mildly worried that he’d upset the man, he only found his lips spread into another one of his blinding grins. “Orphan humor. Don’t worry about it, I’m not sad about that stuff anymore. I really am glad, though, to see that families still exist.”

Orphan.

So when he said he never had a family, he meant it literally. Not like Daryl, whose dad beat him to a pulp a handful of times, and whose brother was a ne’er-do-well who taught him life was a battlefield. Daryl, whose mom had been kind-hearted and warm, but taken from him too early. Daryl, who had a biological family, they just happened to be shit at it. No, when Paul said he didn’t have much of a family, he meant that he was the kind of person who really didn’t have any of that at all, good or bad.

The kind of person who grew up in group homes.

“I gotta go,” Daryl found himself blurting, getting up before he could catch the confusion in Paul’s eyes.

“Oh,” he had no right to sound as disappointed as he did. Daryl felt like his ears had just been filled with cotton because he was spacing out as his brain rushed through one million possibilities, heart beating somewhere up in his throat, but he heard Paul continue. “Sure, it’s pretty late already. I should probably go, too.”

The hunter only nodded, a jerky movement, before he was rushing out of there, with Dog following closely along. Somewhere behind him, he could hear Paul wishing him a good night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> correct me if I'm wrong but I think Daryl only started wearing a bandana for riding his bike in season 9, so I'm gonna assume that was Jesus' influence in canon, too. Jesus cares about your airways.
> 
> Also, thank you so much for the kudos and bookmarks and comments, everyone! It really makes my day to see these and it makes me wanna keep writing, so let me know if you're still enjoying the story so far. Criticism is always appreciated! Thank you for showing support, and making me enjoy writing fanfic again <3


	4. Chapter 4

Daryl spent the next three weeks trying to figure out if Paul had already found his soulmate or not.

Which wasn't much to find out, of course. If the man did see the world in full color, it could mean a number of things. He could've found his soulmate and they died, he could've found his soulmate and they split up, he could've found and lost the person a number of different ways. Ways that weren't necessarily "he was ripped away from me when I was a little kid because his dad was an asshole and since then I haven't seen him again". Still, he wanted to find out, and he didn't want to ask, because asking made everything too real.

Even if it was true -- and Daryl had a hard time letting himself believe that --, then what? They'd spent all these years apart, they grew into their own separate people and now by some mysterious hand of fate, they had to be together? No, Daryl had seen soulmates go wrong too many times before, he wasn't about to jump into anything.

So he asked things here and there, as nonchalant as possible, and he was being sneaky about it.

He started taking chore rotations that matched Paul's, and Tara gave him a suspicious look, but didn't comment further on it. It took him three weeks to finally get where he wanted to, because there were only so many eye colors that he could test someone's knowledge on to figure out whether or not they were colorblind.

"Pass me the blue box?" Daryl had asked on the first week, when they were working together repairing some minor incidents in construction. The perfect opportunity had presented itself through the little boxes where they kept nails separated, inside the toolbox. One was distinctively blue, and held a longer set of nails that the hunter absolutely didn't need, but his eyes watched like a hawk, half hidden behind his hair, to see if Paul would be confused.

He was, but not for the expected reason. He picked up the box immediately, then furrowed his brows at it. "Really? These are finishing nails. They won't hold things together, you need the bigger ones."

Daryl grumbled something about him being right, and tried to drown his embarrassment with the sound of more hammering. At least then he knew Paul could see blue.

Which didn't have to mean anything, it didn't, but Daryl felt his heart start a hopeful, dreamy off-beat rhythm in his chest. Blue was his eye color. But Paul could still be colorblind to green or brown or hazel, and even if he wasn't, again, there were so many other ways this could go. Ways that were less stupid than losing your soulmate as a kid and finding them over twenty years later, ten years into an actual apocalypse.

The more he thought about it, the less he hoped.

On the second week, he tried it again. There wasn't a good opportunity, but he made one for himself, in a sudden boost of bravery one morning before he left for a run. He just needed to check on some traps a couple miles away, nothing that would take long. 

Putting on a nonchalant attitude despite the anxiety running in his veins, he asked, "Hey, where's that green bandana?"

Paul was halfway through eating his scrambled eggs, sitting outside in the communal area, and he looked up at Daryl with a thoughtful look.

"Oh. It's in my trailer," he gestured behind himself, and then dropped his fork, shuffling in his seat like he was about to get up. "I'll go get it, do you need it now?"

"No, it's fine," Daryl grumbled quickly, panicking. He didn't want to inconvenience the guy.

Before he could get more of a concrete answer on that, he was storming out towards the gates with Dog on his heels. He knew that he should've waited and seen if Paul would hand him the right bandana, if perhaps he'd have trouble figuring it out, but he chickened out. He didn't want to make the other leave breakfast and go all the way back to his trailer just over a question with ulterior motives. Daryl didn't even want the damn bandana.

So that was a failed attempt, but he took it as a promising 'maybe'.

He didn't have the guts to ask any more for another week and a half, but by then he'd figured out a perfect plan. Foolproof, really. It didn't matter that it was extremely out of character for him when he declared:

"Let's play I Spy With My Little Eye."

They had some hours to spare at the end of that day, after they'd worked together in construction some more. They were a fantastic team, it turned out. Everything that Daryl offered to do, Paul was quick to say he could help, too, so they ended up spending a lot of time like that, working, occasionally talking, mostly enjoying each other's company in silence. Daryl would call it bonding.

When they weren't together, Paul had also been mingling with the people of Hilltop, already fitting in enough that he was working with Tara to figure out the best times for teaching karate classes. The kids had been buzzing with excitement at the mere idea of doing high kicks and whatnot. He blended into the community like he'd known everyone for years.

Maybe that was why Daryl felt this eerie familiarity every time he looked at the man, maybe he was like that with everyone. Barely a month since he arrived at Hilltop and he knew and called everyone by name. Enid loved him, Tammy was already getting tea brewing tips from him, he'd even managed to make Tara laugh a handful of times. He was a human magnet, an emotional furnace to everyone's cold hearts.

So maybe Daryl was foolish to even go into this quest to figure Paul out, but he allowed himself this. One foolish hope. He deserved this, this one thing that made his heart pick up its pace and made him feel like a kid again, after ten years of living in despair and losing people he loved. So when they had some time off, he took Paul's invitation to sit on top of the man's trailer and share two cups of ice cold tap water as they waited for dinner. Probably as close as they could get to kicking back and sharing a couple beers.

When he broke the question, he was met with pure confusion. The sun was setting, lowering itself down, almost behind the sea of trees they could see, and it painted the sky a glowing mix of oranges and pink. It was quite the view from this spot above the trailer.

"I Spy?" Paul's tone was skeptical, his face twisted in confusion. 

"What?" Daryl asked, instantly defensive. "I can have fun."

Paul grinned, his smile teasing as he looked off into the landscape ahead of them. Daryl took a second to realize how stupidly sappy it was that they were literally watching the sunset. "I'm sure," the scout hummed. "Just didn't take you for the road trip game kind of fun."

"Shut up. I'm just trynna pass the time," he mumbled.

"No, I like it," Paul chuckled, briefly leaning his body closer, like he almost wanted to bump their shoulders together in jest, but decided against it. "Come on, you start, then. Entertain me."

Daryl cleared his throat, eyes squinting dramatically as he looked around. As if he needed to look at all. As if he hadn't had this planned for days, and was just gearing up to deliver his practiced line.

"I spy something brown," he deadpanned.

"You didn't say the whole thing," Paul noted, and there was still this burning amusement that he was trying to contain behind his smile. "Where's the spirit? Where's the rhyme? What about your little eye?"

"I changed my mind, I don't wanna play anymore," Daryl groaned, feigning annoyance. It was worth it, to hear Paul's booming laughter again, his head tilting back.

"No! No, okay, I'll take it," he protested quickly, once he'd stopped laughing, and then looked around to search for an answer. "Something brown, you said? Is that… Well, most things here are brown. The shed?" 

Daryl didn't even have anything in mind, he'd take any answer as correct. He just wanted to know if Paul could see the color. And, judging by the dark brown color of the shed, he could.

"Y'got it," he murmured. "Your turn?"

"That was too easy," Paul tapped his fingertips against the top of the trailer as his eyes searched around them. "I spy with my little eye… something sharp."

Daryl forgot that this plan involved actually playing the game. In his daydreams, he would just pose the questions and Paul would answer, he forgot this had to go the other way around to keep his real motives a secret. So he sighed, and looked around, and tried not to be annoyed at the other man's smug little smile.

"The guard's spears?" He tried, hopeful.

Paul shook his head.

"The…" Daryl paused, unable to find anything else sharp that he could think of. Well, this plan depended solely on his capability to move the game along, so he looked again, torso twisting this way and that to look around them. "I don't fucking know, man."

"You can't give up already," Paul huffed. "Come on. It's also silver. The color, not the material. I'll give you that."

Silver and sharp. What the fuck was silver and sharp? A knife? Daryl's brows were furrowed in concentration, and it was by chance that his eyes swept over the smithy this time. Its door was wide open and he could just catch a glimpse of the blacksmiths working inside. Henry was probably in there learning.

"Is it one of the iron things?" He pointed towards the smithy with a jerk of his chin. "The anvil, or somethin'?"

"Ah! There you go!" Paul mockingly clapped, then had the audacity to laugh when he received a glare for it. "Don't hate the player, hate the game. It was your choice."

"My turn," he grumbled, sounding annoyed to overcompensate for how excited he was to be asking. His final question, the last step of his dumb secret plan to find out whether or not Paul was colorblind.

Which was actually all just one little step in the big plan of actually asking him about soulmates without sounding like a creep. That took more courage than Daryl had to spare. 

He chewed on the skin of his thumb as he spoke. "I spy something green."

Paul hummed. When Daryl sneaked at glance at him, he saw the man with his lips pursed, something sparkling in his eyes. It reminded the hunter of when Carol tried to hide a smile, the way she pinched her face closed but the corners of her lips still tugged up. She always did that when she was trying hard not to make fun of him for doing or saying something ridiculous.

"Is it a tree?" He asked, and before Daryl had the time to congratulate him, he continued. "You know, if you wanted to know if I'm colorblind, you could've just asked."

Daryl froze.

The hand that was curled around the edge of the trailer tightened, knuckles turning white. He couldn't tell if his face was pale with horror or reddening with embarrassment, under the crippling weight of knowing that his plan had been so easy to discover. He thought he was being so careful about this.

Paul, who had every right to be weirded out and leave by now, just laughed. And laughed some more. It was a quiet sound, not the kind that exploded out of him when he was surprised by a joke, but it didn't sound any less genuine.

"In your defense, I'm just a very attentive guy," he said, his tone apologetic, even though he had nothing to be sorry for. He actually looked sheepish, like he felt bad for catching Daryl in his blatant lie. "I appreciate that you tried to be sly about it. Though, really, you can ask. I don't mind talking. To you."

The last two words were added as an afterthought, quieter than the rest. Daryl tried to let go of some of his shame to make way for the bit of fondness that bloomed in his chest. He didn't mind talking to Paul, either, he thought.

"Sorry," the hunter mumbled under his breath, taking the thumb from his mouth and picking at the skin with his blunt fingernails, instead, just for something to focus on.

"It really is fine," Paul reassured, smile in his voice. "I didn't mean to call you out, I just wanted you to be able to ask."

Daryl wasn't going to ask. That much was pretty obvious, by the way he kept looking at his hands, picking at his skin stubbornly. It'd been weird enough to get caught in his plan, and he'd calculated all this specifically to avoid asking. He wasn't good at this, communicating like this. He was an open book, easy to read, but actually voicing things and asking what he wanted to know was too direct. And this particular situation made him nervous. He preferred to skirt around it until someone else got it.

"Do you wanna know about it?" Paul asked, eventually, once he figured out no more questions were coming. "I do see in full color, y'know. Is that all you were trying to find out?"

The question was heavy with promises, and Daryl shrugged. "Y'don't have to tell me about it."

"Well, yeah, obviously," he shrugged back, and Daryl wasn't sure what that meant, but Paul still looked calm. Too relaxed for someone who was willing to share his story. "Maybe I just like hearing my own voice."

Every time someone tried to pose the question back at Daryl, he fled the scene as quickly as possible. He didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to talk about how he barely remembered anything, how his dad tried to beat it out of him, how he found and lost his soulmate like the unluckiest bastard alive. He'd told Carol, after she asked for the twentieth time. He'd told Rick, once, too. He thought there were some others who probably knew it to some extent, Maggie and Tara. Gabriel, though that had been an accident.

Way back in the day, when he was as defensive as an injured wild animal, he lashed out at anyone who wanted to ask him about it. He was bitter, and sad, and angry. He remembered the jealousy he felt of Maggie and Glenn, the look of awe in the kid's eyes when he saw all that green for the first time. For a while there, Daryl wouldn't even come near anyone who had a soulmate. He acted like he hated them, out of principle.

Nowadays, he was more mellow. Softer. He didn't like talking about it, but he wouldn't get mad if someone asked him. It was still startling to him, though, how easy Paul was about this.

"They're not around anymore," the bearded man started, his eyes somewhere off on the trees, thoughtful. His lips were still up in a smile, but it felt different. It felt more like a mask, like the same smile he put on when was asking someone a favor or offering to help somewhere. It wasn't any less genuine, but it was more guarded. A little calculated. "It was a guy. Blue eyes. I don't know much about him. We only had a couple hours together, when I was a kid. Didn't even know what all that meant, you know, and then he was taken away from me. Met him at a group home."

Every bone in Daryl's body felt like ice. If his heart was speeding in his chest, he couldn't tell, for his ears felt as muffled as his throat felt dry, and he didn't have the time to process so many feelings at once.

Blue eyes. Group home. His one hand tightened on the metal of the trailer until his knuckles cramped, but he kept squeezing, because it was easier than letting himself tremble. Paul didn't seem to notice the panic inside. If anything, he still looked relaxed.

Then he leaned back, laying with his back on the trailer, looking up at the blue, pink, orange, red sky. His legs dangled over, knees bent right by Daryl's. The hunter didn't look back, because he still felt like his every joint was stiff and his limbs were made of lead, but he could imagine Paul's hair spread around his head like a halo and that made breathing even more difficult.

At this point, it was a miracle he hadn't just passed out from stress alone.

And he shouldn't be stressed, he should be ecstatic. He should be rushing to tell Paul about how it was him, it was him, it was him! They found each other. All these years, all this suffering, and here they were. They found each other. All the tugging in his chest since they met, the times they kept going out of their way to spend time with each other now that they were here, it wasn't just accidental. Decades away, but they found each other.

And Daryl couldn't say a word.

"I spent most of my childhood in group homes," Paul continued, hands crossed on top of his stomach. Daryl felt like his entire world had shifted.

Listening to his voice felt different now, sitting beside him felt different, like acknowledging their bond in his head had made the pull towards him stronger. And maybe it was the scientific explanation, the genetic mutation that made them allegedly perfect for each other, the hands of fate trying to push them together. But maybe it was just that from this second on, Daryl let himself want him. Because he'd never let himself want anyone else, anything else, ever in his life. And now it was here, the man with bright blue-green eyes, wrapped up with a bow on top. With a perfectly trimmed beard, and more table manners than Daryl even knew existed, and karate moves.

He'd never even fantasized about this moment much. He never thought of what he would say, what he should do, because it was so impossible that they would ever meet again. Maybe when he was a teenager, he'd let his mind wander, when he was young and sad, and he wanted someone wonderful and perfect to show up and make his life better. Someone who would chain-smoke with him until late in the night, someone to trade stories with, someone to fight for.

And now that someone was here.

"People feel bad for me when I tell them that, but it's okay. It's pretty much all I knew," Paul went on, which was good. At least it gave Daryl time to panic in his own head. "I was at this group home for good, this kid was just passing by. Sometimes they brought kids over for just a little while. He was a few years older than me. I don't remember much now, you know? Because it was too long ago. I never saw him again. Never had any hopes for it, anyway, because that'd be so difficult. Life only grants you one meeting, and even that's not guaranteed. To find them twice? That'd be ridiculous. I'm not that lucky."

Daryl swallowed around the lump in his throat. It was such an insane experience, to know that Paul was here, after this whole time, after going through the same things he did. After wondering where the other was, wishing they would meet again but with little to no hope. Growing into the despair, embracing it, living with it until it was just in the back of your mind. Years of not knowing if the other was even alive anymore.

"He had a bad dad. I mean, we were at a group home, of course he did," Paul said, and his voice was quieter now. Daryl was glad that he could stare into the trees and the other could stare into the sky, and they didn't have to make anything near to eye contact. Because it was written all over Daryl's face, or at least he felt like it was, that he knew this story as well as Paul. "I don't remember this part, but people told me his dad came to take him back after a while. Some rough, redneck fella, didn't like hearing about his kid and this random orphan boy, I guess."

Daryl's heart tightened in his chest, and he felt the air grow heavier around him. He shrunk his shoulders in like he could make himself smaller, maybe even disappear into himself. He didn't like that Paul knew about that part, because it was sad, incredibly sad, and he couldn't imagine yet another kid having to carry the weight of his dad's stupidity.

"I still worry about him," Paul's voice was small now, cracked around the words like they were fragile. Daryl didn't know if it was out of emotion, or just because he was almost whispering. He didn't look over his shoulder to check. "I don't know. Just hope he made it out of that house."

He hadn't. He stayed and endured the abuse until it was burned into his brain like something from a branding iron, until it was all he knew. He didn't leave until his father died and even nowadays he still heard the old man's voice in his head. 

It was all long gone now, but these things lingered as much as the scars on his back. Even if his skin was covered in new ones now, from the Sanctuary, from those kids, from life in the apocalypse. He felt like his soul had been through the same treatment. He found new things to suffer for. His dad was long gone, pushed to the back of his mind as he mourned the loss of his brother, his family, his friends. As he blamed himself for Glenn, for Beth, for Rick. The scars from his father's hand were still there, just hidden behind a whole sheet of new ones.

"Why were you so curious about it?" Paul asked, and just like that, the humor was back in his voice. The same teasing tone that suddenly felt like a sweet dagger to the chest. "Trying to see if you could make a move on me, Dixon?"

It was said in jest, and it was ironic enough that it ripped an indignant huff from Daryl's throat. He felt like the sound was wrong, too stiff, too ugly, the panic behind it too obvious. Paul didn't seem to notice it, only chuckled along and bumped his knee against Daryl's.

Daryl felt simultaneously like he might pass out and like he might transcend into another world altogether.

"I'm kidding," the other man hummed, a smile clear in his voice. "I like hearing other people's soulmate stories, too. Morbid curiosity, I guess, from someone who never quite knew what that's like. Wish I did, but that's just how life works, sometimes. I like to think it wasn't meant to be, in the end, no matter what science says."

Meant to be. Incredibly ridiculous to think of what anything meant when you were sitting next to your soulmate after years of missing them, after years of an apocalypse that wiped out half the population. Paul didn't seem to mind the sudden silence from his companion, but Daryl was a silent guy even on his good days, so that made sense.

"What's yours?" He asked, a happy lilt in his words.

Happy, like he hadn't just shattered and rebuilt everything Daryl thought he knew in a matter of seconds. The hunter cleared his throat, and felt like he hadn't spoken in years. He was so caught up in his own head that he felt like he'd gone through a year's worth of overthinking in just the few minutes Paul had been speaking through.

"What?" He croaked, his voice awkward, rough. "My what?"

"Your soulmate story," Paul explained. "If you don't mind me asking, of course. No need to share, though, I get it."

Daryl couldn't tell him.

He wouldn't.

Because he couldn't bring himself to make this jump, no matter how fucking hard it was not to confess right here and then. Paul was still barely a friend, someone he knew for just about a month now, and most of the time was spent stressing whether the guy really was his soulmate or not.

He didn't know how Paul liked his eggs in the morning. If he used to watch any sports. If he preferred the winter or summer. If he was a cat or a dog person. If he liked tea or coffee and how many spoons of sugar he would've liked in his cup.

All these stupid mundane things that would've mattered so much before the world went to shit. All the things he wished he knew, things he wondered about when he was just a hopeful kid, all alone. He dreamed about this moment once, but he spent another twenty years of his life repressing that so hard that it was difficult to find it again. He wasn't happy he'd found Paul. He was fucking terrified.

It wasn't about his dad anymore, or the shame and pain of trying to be accepted for who he loved, who he was. The fears had taken another shape now, had morphed into something bigger than all of that; something uglier, something he could have nightmares about. Something like Glenn's destroyed head on the ground, something like Rick's eyes before he fired his gun for the last time.

It wasn't about finding his soulmate, it was about losing him again.

He'd already done his mourning once. He'd taken yet another beating from life and worked his way around it, he lived without a soulmate and that had been fine. But now Paul was here, in the flesh.

Healthy flesh, smooth skin ready to be ripped apart by gruesome walker teeth, a broad chest ready to take a bullet, long hair that could be matted down with blood. And Daryl had only let himself want him for a minute or two, had only let himself feel the attraction for Paul for a brief moment and the idea of the man getting hurt was already destroying him. He'd survived this whole time without a soulmate. He'd lost brothers, sisters, he'd gone through torture and he became his own fortress, and he couldn't afford to lose anything else.

He wasn't so much a fortress as he was a carefully built house of cards. Everything he went through was another card added, another layer to the pile of unsteady, precariously balanced paper-thin building, and one of these days, it would collapse. One of these days, there wouldn't be any more space to build upon, and there'd be a final blow. And maybe losing his soulmate again would be it.

He didn't want to tell Paul.

On top of all of that, there was fear of rejection, too. Soulmates could be backed up by all the scientific data in the world, but he knew first-hand that they didn't always go as planned. His mom and dad were soulmates, and that never worked out for anyone.

And the sheer fear of being in a relationship was crippling. 

He never had any good examples growing up. Even now that he'd seen so many couples, met so many good people who worked out well, he never imagined it for himself. He'd never been with anyone else before because there was no point, in his mind, knowing they wouldn't be his soulmate. He didn't want anyone else. And now, it wasn't exactly like he could confess his story to Paul and sweep him off his feet and smash a kiss on his lips like the big ending of a movie. Because he couldn't, and he wouldn't, and he didn't want to.

"Found them and lost them," Daryl said, at last. The words felt foreign, like he hadn't picked them out himself, but they worked. They concealed. "'M not lucky, either."

It was just for a while, he told himself. He wasn't going to hide this forever, right? He wasn't even a good liar to begin with. But he needed the time to process, he needed silence and his own thoughts and a couple drinks to see where he would take this. And then maybe, after a while, he'd tell Paul about it. Once he got any confirmation that they could work out, that this thing could be good, then he'd break the news. And then they could go from there.

"Sorry," Paul said softly. "But at least we found them, right? Even if mine was so short-lived. At least we can see the world in full color. I think that's nice. Like we'll always carry a piece of them with us." 

Daryl nodded. He'd never thought of it like that. It was such a sweet sentiment that it almost made him tear up, but maybe that was just all the added stress of this whole conversation. He felt like he could sleep for three days straight now, just to process everything.

"That is nice," he agreed, trying his best to unwind his shoulders that were still hunched and tense. Again, Paul didn't seem to notice. "I should go. Help with dinner."

He wasn't on dinner duty tonight, but it was a good enough excuse to disappear into the Barrington House for hours, maybe even skip dinner entirely and go to bed while he was at it. Paul hummed from behind him, a lazy sound.

"Make sure Kal isn't in charge of the mashed potatoes again," he suggested, a chuckle lost behind his words. "Last time it turned out horrible, and he knows it."

Daryl grumbled something noncommittal under his breath as he shuffled over to take the little ladder down the side of the trailer. He didn't sneak any last glances at Paul, who was still laying there, watching the sky turn darker by the minute. When he hit the ground, it felt like he'd left a bubble of tension behind.

He helped with dinner and went straight into his room that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone's enjoying the mess I'm crafting so far.
> 
> Hopefully a new chapter by next week, but no promises, because holidays can get crazy! I might have to post through mobile, so stay with me through this journey. I'm also working on a long oneshot of another AU because the desus muse is too strong, so keep an eye out for that, friends!
> 
> As always thank you for reading, and happy almost holidays! Let me know what you think!


	5. Chapter 5

"Can't you just go get Eugene?"

"It's not that simple," Tara sighed, slumping down on the chair that sat behind her desk.

Daryl had never seen her look so tired. Tara was a wonderful leader to Hilltop, even if it was by necessity, not by choice at first. She hated this office room in the Barrington House, she'd told him once. She felt like she could never fill all of its space up, not how Maggie's presence used to. It was a silly thing to say, a useless comparison, and he remembered telling her to knock that thought off her head.

Still, he could see the look in her eyes whenever she was in here, like she couldn't quite help feeling overwhelmed. He tried to help her as best as he could.

"Eugene's a genius or whatever, ain't he?" Daryl insisted. "He might know."

"He won't. Eugene sucks at biology stuff. I mean, is that so surprising?" she huffed. "We have some farmers here, and we have doctors. You'd think that combining the two gets us the knowledge we need, and technically it got us this far, but now we really could use a real veterinarian."

The word brought over the image of Hershel, so vividly and brightly that it almost made Daryl stagger on his feet. He wished he'd listened to the man more. He'd been one of the good ones.

Tara looked like she noticed the change in him, by the sympathetic nod she gave, but she didn't comment further. She came into the group right after Hershel's death, she only knew of him distantly, and she wouldn't dare bring it up now.

"So, either we get a vet here, or we might lose all the goats," she sighed in distress, leaning her elbows onto the table and sinking her fingers into her hair. "And we can't just put an ad up on craigslist, farm vet needed to treat mysterious goat virus. So we're fucked. I don't know who can help."

Daryl didn't have the answers, either. He chewed on the skin of his thumb and tried to come up with some brilliant plan, but he wasn't the best at these sort of things. It didn't help that his conversation with Paul from yesterday was so fresh in his brain and clouding up every other smart thought he might've had. He barely slept this past night, even though he claimed to be tired enough to skip dinner and hide in his room until the sun came up again. He still felt buzzed and raw from the discovery, like his insides were exposed, like anyone could read in his face that he was keeping a giant secret.

Clearly, it wasn't the case, as Tara didn't even bother saying good morning as he entered, before she spilled all her worries onto him. He appreciated it.

"The Kingdom?" He tried, though he knew she'd already tried that.

As expected, she shook her head. "Carol said they lost their vet last month. The trainee probably wouldn't know about something specific like this, either."

Before he could let out the heavy, tired sigh that he was preparing -- which would be followed by a crude remark that 'well maybe we just kill the damn goats for meat, then, before they're tainted' --, a knock on the open door caught their attention. Tara lifted her head from her hands, and put on a smile that was only partially forced.

"Come in, Jesus," she waved a hand to beckon him in.

"Sorry to interrupt," he offered on his way in, shooting Daryl an apologetic look, as if he really had been interrupting anything too important.

Daryl tried not to recognize how his heart squeezed in his chest at the sight of the other, and how his fingertips seemed to be tingling with white noise. His lungs ached for a cigarette.

"Don't worry, we were just discussing the goat-pocalypse," Tara dismissed, taking the papers he handed over and looking over them curiously. "Thank you for these. Hey, you wouldn't know anything about goats, would you?"

There was a brief second of silence in which Daryl was convinced they'd get a positive response. Because Paul was virtually perfect in every other aspect, of course he would also be the answer to all of their problems.

"They're… cute?" Was the reply that came, instead, as the man squinted. "Sorry, I was born and raised downtown, I'm afraid I had never even seen a goat in real life before coming here. I don't know anything about them."

That was interesting. Daryl almost wanted to laugh. A city boy.

"I figured," Tara nodded, not looking any more or less distressed than she did before. "Was worth a shot anyway. God, why can't we just have a second of internet? I swear, one google search and we'd know what to do."

Another beat of silence.

Judging this to be the perfect time to offer up his idea of simply giving up and enjoying goat meat while they still could, Daryl started.

"Why don't we just--"

Paul had chosen to talk at the exact same time. "Well, if you th--"

They both cut off in unison, and Daryl felt the tips of his ears burning for no good reason. He cleared his throat, and nodded for the other to go first.

"I was just gonna say, if you think a computer would fix your problem, then do it the old-fashioned way," Paul said, looking sheepish. "Books. There must be some books on the subject."

Tara's face contorted into three different increasing stages of acceptance, doubt, and skepticism in a matter of a second. "Wait, well, okay-- you have a point," she started, lifting a finger towards him. "I'm ashamed I didn't just say books first. But you're also not fixing my problem, we don't have those kinds of books. We have some medical books, but they're on human anatomy. So that doesn't help at all."

"We can find some," Paul was quick to respond, and even quicker to continue when the other two looked at him expectantly. He sounded more excited now. "I know a place. A bookstore, or library, or whatever it used to be. I haven't been there in months, probably, but I'm pretty sure no one would've stolen a book about goats."

"You can't be sure," Daryl pointed out, not wanting to play Devil's advocate here, but someone had to. Stumbling upon a library was too good to be true. Months without visiting it, people had probably already taken everything. "You'd be surprised the kinda shit people steal, these days. Even if they weren't interested in farm animals, they could use the books to fuel fires or something. There's no way it's intact after months."

Paul pursed his lips, and twisted them to one side, a crumpled expression as if it pained him to respond, "No, I'm pretty positive it'll be there."

Daryl glared. Stubborn city boy hippie. He was about to start a rant on how safety was important and how they couldn't just risk it all for some fucking goats, when Tara interrupted them.

"Do you genuinely believe this place will be helpful?" She asked, trapping a pen between her knuckles and tapping the end of it against the desk repeatedly. Her question was wary, but her big eyes were hopeful and stuck on Jesus. "Is it far? What if it's taken by walkers? Or some murderous group? We've had our fair share of encounters with murderous groups, Jesus, please, if there's even a small chance that it isn't safe..."

At that, her eyes glanced over at Daryl, worried. He reciprocated the look, reluctantly, if only because he hoped his own gaze was successfully sending the message: _please don't let him do this_. Walkers were the least of their worries, these days. Paul had survived this far, he could clearly take care of himself, but the thought of running into another round of Saviors just for a handful of sick goats... 

"I promise it's safe. It's not that far from here. I slept in there for a week, there wasn't a single soul in sight," Paul swore. "It's hard to reach. I don't think anyone else would risk it for a bookshop. The place is mostly flooded and it takes some serious manoeuvring to get there. I had to break in from a second floor window, back in the day, and it wasn't an easy climb."

Just added to the list of things Daryl would love to know about his soulmate was why the hell he decided breaking into a library was worth all of that trouble, in the first place. He bit back curiosity and looked back at Tara, who tapped her pen nervously a few more times before saying anything. 

"Okay," she decided. "We might as well give it a try, if you're so sure of it. I trust you. And we need these goats healthy. I'll arrange the supplies and weapons needed -- the sun just came up, do you think you could leave today? Should be plenty of sunlight left for the trip."

"I'm going with him," Daryl announced.

Tara looked at him with surprise, but the feeling only stayed on her face for a second. She looked like she might've wanted to argue, but decided against it.

"I would send Kal, but if you want to go instead," she finished the sentence with a shrug.

He had to. Personally, he had no reason to climb into a flooded, abandoned library, that sounded ridiculous and three shades of insane, but there was no way he'd let Paul go alone. And that, in itself, was enough confirmation that he would never be able to come clean about what they were, about what he knew. He couldn't bear the thought of letting Paul go and just sitting back, waiting anxiously for his return, risking never seeing him again and never knowing what happened. Losing his soulmate a second time. It was already unbearable to think about now, when they weren't close, barely even friends. If he opened up about their connection and they grew even closer, Daryl would feel like his heart was being ripped out of his chest every time they had to be apart for longer than a couple hours, and that wasn't healthy. Or safe. For neither of them.

He couldn't afford to depend on anyone. He knew what it felt like, to lean too heavily against someone and having that person taken from you. He wasn't trying to go through that again.

"We can leave now," Paul offered, looking at him, then at Tara for confirmation. "It shouldn't take more than a day to get there by foot, and a day to come back. We can take shelter there for the night. Quick work."

The leader nodded, looking more alive than she'd had all morning, and she got up from her chair to circle over the table. Daryl could swear there was a skip to her step when she reached Paul and gave his shoulder two hearty taps.

"You're a godsend, Jesus. Pun absolutely intended," she smiled for a pause, then ushered them out of the room. "Come on, off you go, don't waste any daylight."

The hunter could feel Paul's eyes searching his when they left the room, but he swiftly ignored it in favor of rushing over to his room in the House and packing whatever he would be needing for a quick trip. It wasn't that he actively wanted to avoid, or ignore his soulmate -- he did just agree to a scouting trip with him, afterall, just the two of them alone --, but he still needed time to process this. Just that, thinking about Paul and referring to him as soulmate in his head, was enough to shut off every other valuable thought he might've had for the next three hours. 

There was much to think about, but he didn't want to think about any of it. It was the world's most annoying paradox. He didn't want to sit and contemplate the logistics of a relationship now, after all these years, after they've grown into such different people. He didn't want to figure out if he even wanted something or not. Still, these thoughts were weighing in his mind, all piled into a heavy mass that slumped his shoulders down and made his movements slower.

He couldn't handle looking into those piercing blue eyes again, so soon after finding out what they mean.

The vest that was resting over the back of a chair was easy to slip into, and soothing. He always felt more like himself with that old thing on, and there wasn't much more he needed. Just water enough to survive and weapons. No use for a change of clothes or items of hygiene if they were only doing a quick trip, so they could probably just fit some snacks into one backpack and share that along the way.

He was cleaning up his crossbow when there was a soft knock on the open door of his bedroom, knuckles rattling against the old wood.

Tara stood there, a distant look on her face that quickly vanished when their eyes met, replaced by a warm smile that looked like it belonged there. He nodded and she took a step inside so he could hear her hushed tone when she spoke.

"Are you good, going with him?" She asked. "You don't have to feel like you have to. I know I gave you a hard time when he first got here, but he's been here long enough now, we all like him. I'm sure someone else could go if you want to rest."

That was hilarious to hear, especially considering she never did give him a hard time. He vaguely remembered she made a stern face for two seconds, but that was hardly the definition of a hard time. He'd deserved a lot worse for bringing a stranger into their safe haven.

He only nodded again, a quiet hum of agreement leaving him.

"I'm really glad to have you back," she said, the whole sentence fitting into one big sigh, relief radiating from her nervously clasped hands. "Seriously, dude-- I mean, I have Enid, and some of the others pay visits sometimes, but it's not the same. I feel like we're--... It's good to have you back. You know?"

He raised his eyebrows at her. It occurred to him now that they had never really talked about how they felt about each other, not directly, not to each other. She seemed like she was choking on her words, which was strangely unusual for Tara, someone who spoke before she thought. She looked half uncertain, half embarrassed.

If there was any doubt in her dumb head that they were family, it was the least he could do to squash it.

"It's good to be back," he mumbled, sure that he'd said those words before, in the last month since he'd arrived. Maybe it was good to reinforce. "Good to be with family."

She nodded, her smile growing as she reached out to pat his arm lovingly. He supposed this was as close as either of them would get to initiating or accepting a hug in a moment like this.

"So you sure you're good? You don't hate him or anything? You act weird around him," she placed her hands on her hips.

Taken by a sudden need to express himself -- which didn't happen often, but he didn't want to overthink it --, he heaved out a sigh before speaking up. "It ain't like that. It's… it's different. Between me 'nd him."

He wished he'd said something like that to someone who wasn't smart, but he had the unfathomable luck to have wonderful women in his life, who wouldn't let a word from him pass by without examination. Which was why Tara squinted, eyebrows furrowing and then raising, like her face couldn't quite decide how to react.

"Do you care to elaborate?" Her voice had an amusing lilt to it, one that made him grunt and hide behind his hair.

"I'll tell you about it some other time," he offered, hoping she'd leave him alone after that.

Maybe he should tell someone about it, he thought. And maybe it wouldn't be so bad to tell it to someone neutral, someone like Tara, who didn't know him as deeply as Carol or Michonne did. He didn't need advice from them, because he could already hear them in his mind, slapping at his temple and telling him to do what he couldn't bring himself to. No, someone like Tara would probably appreciate knowing about this whole thing for what it was: just a good story. Maybe it'd give her a good laugh.

He'd tell her once they came back, he decided.

"Whatever you say, dude," she didn't bother hiding the amusement from her voice now, her grin obvious as she headed towards the door. "Don't forget to take enough food with you. And sleeping bags. Might get cold tonight."

He made another noise, something between a groan and a hum, and didn't look up to watch her leave. He locked his arrows into place and took a deep breath before he moved downstairs to finish getting things ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long to update, and thank you for sticking around, whoever's reading!
> 
> This is a bit of a filler chapter, I know, I hope you all enjoyed the sibling action anyway. I love Tara. I had been away on holidays and then life got busy, so I couldn't update any sooner, but I wanted to give out this chapter before we jump into the next adventure. The next one won't take as long to come out as this one did! Again, thank you so, so much for all your comments and kudos, they genuinely make my day. I'm happy to be back.
> 
> Tell me, have you seen the new TWD episode or have you given up on the show already? I'm curious! I still watch it, and I honestly spend most of the time imagining how I'm gonna rewrite the cannon scenes into this AU. Three hoorays for self-indulgence!


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